


santa, come again

by peterspajamas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby Peter Parker, Christmas Morning, Fluff, Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas
Summary: Christmas morning with the Starks!
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79
Collections: Irondad Fic Exchange 2020





	santa, come again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bubbablue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbablue/gifts).



> here it is! my exchange fic! thanks so much to my lovely beta and all the people on the discord server who agreed to sprint! I don't know how good this is, but it's definitely tooth rotting fluff <3

"What is it, Peter?” Tony asks through the lens of a camera. 

  
  
It pans to face the room. There the two sat on a cozy red carpet, surrounded by tall windows that look miles high from their position on the floor.

“Pete, what is it?” Rhodey echoes, teasingly, from behind the camera. 

A little kid, who can’t be more than two and a half feet tall, shakes a head of curly hair, giggling wildly.

“Come on, what is it?” Rhodey repeats. 

At some point in the future, when they look back at the home videos, they’re going to think of how young they are. Tony’s chest always jolts when he sees his mothers’ full cheeks in pictures of her in her 30s.

“Show us. What is it?” Tony encourages.

Peter slowly, on chubby legs, finally leads cameraman Rhodey to the window. 

The camera wobbles a little. “Snow,” the kid says in a soft voice, blinking at the frost covered window. 

The two older men exchange smiles through the lens. 

“Here, I’ll take it. You hold your godson,” Tony half-scolds, grabbing the camera and switching it off. He checks to make sure the blinking light is off before bounding back over to the window. Peter’s smearing it with his fingers, the rascal, and Rhodey’s just encouraging it. Dick.   
  


Tony can feel the iciness of the window. Massachusetts is a much different winter than California, and he can tell that Peter likes it. Rhodey walks over, hoisting Peter onto his hip and giving him a better view of the snow.

“Five more minutes, then bedtime?” Rhodey asks, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

Peter’s pretty much monosyllabic by now. “Five more minutes,” he repeats.

Tony curls back into an armchair, threading his hands through a mug of hot cider, and watches Peter rest his dumb, soft little head on Rhodey’s chest. It’s been a long day at the office, and he’d come home, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and glasses on to Rhodey delightedly playing godfather. That- that was worth it. To see his best friend for Christmas. 

“Petey.”

“Daddy,” he replies, smiling his signature sleep two year old smile. Tony raises his eyebrows. 

“How about Uncle Rhodey reads you your bedtime story tonight?” he suggests to Peter, taking in the heavy eyelids.

Tony isn’t a dad who buys his kid novelty Christmas clothes. He’s not. Rhodey disagrees, unfortunately, and won’t stop giving him shit for it. He’s spent most of the night poking fun at Peter’s red sweater with green trees on it. Maybe the vest with little buttons was a bit much, yeah, but Rhodey won’t shut up about it. 

  
Tony is too  _ breathlessly _ happy to see him to hold the teasing against him. There’s always a blooming warmth in his chest when he sees him standing at the airport, uniform on. No one was happier to spend Christmas with Rhodey than Tony was. 

Peter slurs out something indistinguishable, sighing sweetly. Rhodey smells his hair, like the lingering baby-smell is a comfort. Tony laughs at his best friend, knowing he was being a hypocrite; he always makes sure Peter is right next to him when they read naptime stories for that very reason- baby smell. 

“I want to read  _ ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas _ ,” Rhodey tells them, finally walking away from the window. Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The snow is getting darker, anyway, with the night. Only twinkling lights hanging from the eaves brighten the snow sitting in banks against the brick. 

“How about that, Peter?” Tony asks, the door to his bedroom creaking open. 

Peter’s room is all decked out for Christmastime. Rhodey, who hasn’t seen any of it yet, is obviously amused by it all. Truth is, Tony used to be a Grinch. Now, he’s playing carols and hanging up lights. His son even has a miniature Christmas tree in his bedroom. For Christ’s sake, he set up a musical holiday village in his office so Peter can distract himself with the toys. Tony has gone soft.

“Pajama time, Peter pop,” Tony tells him, grabbing a pair of Christmas themed pajamas off of the bed- so sue him, he’s gotten into the holiday spirit- and checking Peter’s pull up. He’s mostly potty trained, so it isn’t an issue, but he’s been quiet all evening, what with Rhodey being in town and all, and for the same reason, Tony hasn’t kept such a close eye on him.

“I like sleigh,” he says, touching the soft fur of one of the reindeer on his shirt. 

“You’ve got a genius on your hands, you know,” Rhodey tells him, sarcastically.

Tony rolls his eyes. Yes, Peter can speak pretty well, and he’s got some impressive vocabulary words, but those things are learned. 

“Daddy’s smart,” Peter tells him, pressing his face into Tony’s stomach when Rhodey laughs a little. 

“Yes, bud, I am, and so are you. Come on, arms up.” Peter pushes the shirt over his head- he’s been on an independence kick lately, continually telling Tony he’ll do it  _ himself _ \- but he gets stuck in it. 

“Are you excited for Santa to come?” Rhodey asks him, helping him with the shirt. 

“Yes,” Peter says. Truthfully, Tony doesn’t know that Peter understands who Santa actually is, but everyone- just Obie and Tony, really- keeps talking the man up. 

“Present man, remember?” Tony says.”I’m going to let Rhodey tuck you in tonight, okay? You want that?” Peter has his extra special toddler bed with candy cane sheets and a big fluffy blanket, and he nods, latching onto his Uncle Rhodey with an adoring, if not sleepy, smile. 

Outside, Tony’s embarrassingly excited to get out all the presents he’s hidden on top of the fridge. He can hear Rhodey’s gentle, deep voice reading the book out loud. For dinner, they’d eaten stew and buttered rolls, pie for dessert. He starts ladling the soup into tupperware, a tiny little smile on his face. 

This is his first Christmas with Peter. He just wants to make it special. Obie’s in the Bahamas, and he has no other family. Just Rhodey. And maybe  _ he’s _ never had a special Christmas before, right? Maybe he’s never done all of that.    
  
Maybe this is his first real Christmas that isn’t being spent on cold galas and expensive, meaningless gifts. 

It just seems right to think that Peter’s gonna wake up and get everything Tony never did. 

  
  


* * *

Rhodey is sleeping a room away, Peter, too, and Tony’s bedroom is sandwiched between them. He’s the first one to wake up, giddy smile plastered on his face. Even more snow has fallen over night, thoroughly transforming their house into a winter wonderland. Tony breathes in the air, the familiar smell of electric heat cutting through icy winter air. 

He makes a cup of coffee, poking around the cookie tins for the ones he hid from Rhodey, the cookie monster. He and Peter have been on a baking spree. Red velvet cupcakes, a pumpkin pie, about five different types of cookies that he’ll end up handing out at the office after New Year’s, and a batch of fresh peppermint bars for Rhodey. 

He’s thankful that he showered yesterday morning but put in no hair gel. Now his hair is just soft and fluffy enough that he just  _ knows _ Peter is going to get a handful.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers aloud.

The atmosphere- the mood- is squeezing mercilessly at his heart. Tony deeply loves everything the past week has been. He tips his head back, staring at the presents. They’re pre wrapped and a feeling of giddy excitement builds in his bones. He wants Peter to have the best Christmas ever.

“What’s cooking this morning?”

Tony smiles slightly at Rhodey. “Nothing much, sweetie buns. You’re the one bringing home the bacon.” Rhodey sputters slightly, punching Tony’s shoulder. 

“What are these nicknames for?” Rhodey asks, enveloping him in a deep hug. Tony breathes in the familiar smell. They’ve hugged like this a couple times already, but Rhodey wasn’t just at a base this time. He was really truly deployed. Tony always worries for him, more than ever, when he’s deployed. 

“Because I adore you, lovemuffin. Really and truly.” Tony stands on his tiptoes, kissing the tip of Rhodey’s nose. They both laugh a little, Rhodey pushing Tony away. He always feels bad, being so affectionate when Rhodey is anything but. It’s worse when it’s in front of one of his superiors- Rhodey has to be lined up neat, perfect posture, not Tony’s brand of mussed hair, lazy sunglasses, baby on the arm. 

“Thanks a lot, you ass, now I have your thousand dollar lip balm all over my goddamn nose,” he sighs. 

Tony grins casually, searching high and low for the baking spray. The griddle is heating up for french toast- they’re having it with coffee cake and quiche. An odd combo that teases at their trio. Two year old Peter, thirty… something year old Tony, and Rhodey, who has the body of a teenage boy at 5’7” -Shorter than Tony!- but the disposition of a thirty-year-old who has gotten into the armed forces too young. 

“It’s less than a thousand dollars,” Tony remarks, casually. 

“Then it’s nice to hear you’re keeping yourself from temptation.”

Tony grins at him. “What tempts me more is spending money on  _ other  _ people.”

They both pause and Rhodey fixes Tony with a Look. Capital L. Of the two of them,  _ Tony  _ is supposed to be the one with Dad Looks. Not Rhodey. “You didn’t get me… a Birkin or anything. Did you?”

Tony cocks his head. “I- do you want one? I can get you one, honey. All you have to do is ask, but it isn’t really your style.”

Rhodey sighs in relief and Tony’s smile that follows is extra amused. “Are you going to take the baby out of his cage?”

Tony points the spatula he’s been using to stir the sauce at Rhodey. “Hey. Number one, it’s a crib, not a cage. Number two, he isn’t a baby anymore. He’s getting very big. You know he can speak on his own now, right? You’ve heard that?” Tony confirms. 

Rhodey gives him a cheeky grin. “So can you, Tony, but if you ask me, you act like nothing more than an overgrown three year old.”

“Three is still not a baby,” Tony volleys back, hugging his friend from the side and moving backwards towards the nursery. “Know this, Rhodes, I am a full ass adult and I would like to be treated like one.”

Peter’s nursery is really pretty. The purple walls and tiny lights dotted around them make the space very calming at night time. Tony’s favorite armchair sits in the corner like a wrinkle-worn grandfather watching over his family. A couple bookshelves sit next to Peter’s closet, which has too many clothes. 

“Hey, bud,” he whispers, knowing his kid was already starting to wake up. Peter rolls over and smiles a little, his mouth hanging open to expose fledgling teeth. 

“Daddy,” he says in his baby voice- the one he’s beginning to grow out of. 

“How are ya, munchkin? Good sleep? I hope so,” Tony tells him. 

He needs a quick diaper change, but he can keep the pajamas on. Nothing looks ruined. 

“Are you excited to see what Santa brought you?” Rhodey asks him, joining the two in the nursery so that he could tickle his godson’s belly. 

“Yeah,” Peter beams, wobbling right to the tree, which has already seen all the presents Obie’s left him and the things random people just… buy for Tony. It’s well decorated. Happy has a box under there, wrapped with tight corners and a short, to the point card. “Shiny,” he tells them, pointing to one of the boxes. 

“You like that? Like your glitter shirt, right?” Tony hums. Rhodey raises his eyebrows and Tony signals that he’ll explain later. “Really sparkly.”

“You want stockings first, Pete? Or presents?” Rhodey chimes in. 

With a confused little frown on his face, he looks between the fireplace and the Christmas tree. “Fuzzy, please,” he says finally. It comes out more like  _ pwease _ . 

“Ok, bud, I’ll lift you and see if you can grab the stocking,” Tony says, swooping in to lift him up. For a moment, Peter is laughing too hard to try and grab anything, but eventually he can reach out with pudgy fingers to grab the red, fuzzy stocking. Tony holds it from the bottom and carries the two of them back to the carpet. 

“I’m going to get Daddy’s and then we can open them together.” Rhodey jogs over and proffers the last one, sprawling out next to their family

“I love you,” Peter says, snuggling into Rhodey’s side. Said platypus looks pleased as punch, stroking his fingers through the soft hair of his best friend’s son. 

“We love you too,” he says, hugging Peter close. Tony joins the cuddle pile on the ground. 

“You first, honeybunch. Peter pop.”

“Peter pop,” Peter parrots to him, though the words are blended together like how he always imagined a dog would talk, too excited and stumbling about to walk elegantly. “Fuzzy,” he explains, dragging Rhodey’s hand to stroke the stocking. 

“What is inside?” Rhodey prompts, guiding Peter’s hand to the shiny tinfoil wrappers around chocolates inside. Tony wiggles from side to side, too excited to see his reaction. 

Peter gasps loudly. “Shiny,” he tells them proudly. The chocolate is almost as big as his hand, covered in a bright plastic wrapping.

“An’ a doggy,” he says, holding the large stuffed animal up to his face. 

“There are more presents over here. Why don’t you help me with the paper?” Tony asks, hauling Peter onto his lap. The kid sits happily, playing with the new dog. Tony can’t suppress a smile at that. Pete would be just as happy with one soft animal as he will be with the mountains of presents he’s gotten. 

“Daddy,” Peter says, pointing to a scroll of ribbon. “What’s dat name?”

Rhodey hands the present over, checking the tag to make sure. “This one’s yours, Peter,” he tells him, smile crinkling at the sides. 

“That’s a ribbon, bud,” Tony says, bending to the side with herculean effort to grab another one of the gifts. “Put on some music, why don’tcha?”

Rhodey hits the play button on their CD player and a cheerful, jingling beat rings out. Peter bounces along on his lap, a smile on his face as he works the edges of the wrapping paper away, suddenly ripping a great tear through the paper. 

“Smile for the camera!” Rhodey tells him. Instead, Pete just stares, jaw dropped, at the book in front of them. Peter’s a  _ bookworm _ , even at, what, 2, and it’s hilarious.

“Do you like it?” Tony prompts. 

“Yesh,” Peter says, mixed all up at the end in excitement. He turns around, flinging pudgy arms around Tony’s waist. 

“Oof,” he groans. Rhodey smiles at him over Peter’s head and again, Tony can’t help but let the festive cheer go to his head the way good whiskey used to, and beams back. Dr. Suess is a… favorite, in their house, and this copy has a history. Tony is, again, hit by a beam of sentimentality and cannot help but kiss Peter’s forehead again.

The rest of the presents fly past quickly. Peter’s the only one opening any, Tony really doubts that he’ll want to wait around for Tony’s gag gifts from Rhodey and a couple, nicer “grown-up presents” from Obie. Just an expensive TV and chocolate, but with the infectious excitement in the air, Peter doesn’t stand a chance against boredom. 

Tony’s little guy is all over the place. “Breakfst”’ he cries, slamming into one of Rhodey’s legs and almost taking him out. 

“Watch out, Rhodey, I can tell you’ve been skipping leg week!” Tony snickers. It earns him a slap on the back of the head and Peter jumps into the kitchen. “Careful, bud, don’t hit your head on the cabinets,” Tony reminds him gently. 

“Breakfst!”

Rhodey snorts, pouring some coffee for himself and leaning against the counter. “That’s right, Peter. What is Daddy going to prepare for you today?”

Peter stares at Tony, as if he’s echoing the question.  _ What now _ ? “Coffee cake and quiche, you were there when we made it, french toast for the munchkin.”

Peter nods, pleased with the option, and drags his new stuffed dog onto the table as he hops up onto a chair.    
  
By the end of breakfast, his hair is sticky and Tony is worried for his face, it’s so red from all the strawberries. 

“You aren’t a baby anymore, why are you this messy?” he mutters, wiping Peter down. 

A jumble of syllables emerges from Peter’s mouth once he’s out of his chair and he runs off.

“What did he just say?” Rhodey asks Tony bemusedly.

“Hell if I know. Probably going to draw.” Tony peers out of the doorway and smiles slightly. Dads are always right. “Yup. Drawing.”

Rhodey considers him. And, you know, it’s like this:

He hasn’t spent this much time with Rhodey for a long while. Peter is speaking clear sentences, walking like a natural. Last time Rhodey saw him, Tony had first gotten full custody, was terrified of being a single dad, cradling a tiny little thing like his life depended on it. And now, now he’s changed. 

“Cute kid you got there.”

Tony smiles lopsidedly. “Peter is the best.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!


End file.
